Lia Ditton goes monohulling

1000 mile Route du Rhum qualifier for the sailing artist

I can’t hold on… One glance at the main sheet traveller and I saw that the cockpit was beyond vertical. I began to fall… The seepage of water up my foul weather gear bottoms to above waist and the infiltration through the neoprene of my boots was slow. Only with the sudden burst of my life jacket, came the realisation that I was in the water. The water was an inky black that reflected in spots from the glare of my head torch. I like to think that I never let go of the boat, but on reflection, I must have let go in order to have fallen. The whole event now jars in slow motion.

There’s a metal hand rail which bridges the corners of the cockpit and between clasping that and then hauling myself up my lifejacket tether, I climbed back up the cockpit to the starboard runner; afraid for the mast. I took up the slack on the starboard runner and eased the port which was pinned behind the main. Scrambling inside the cabin, I flicked the switch over to cant the keel and started the electric pump. The pump which moves the hydraulic fluid was straining with that, ‘I’ve finished canting the keel’ sound. With the boat on her ear, was the pump under abnormal load? I clambered back up the companionway to roll up the jib, but despite paying out more mainsheet, the boat was still not righting. Rather than creating a wake, the boat was rippling the water, moving sideways. Where was the keel? Inside, I confirmed that the keel switch was on the right side. Then I had a moment of horror. Was there something wrong with the keel? Peering into the keel box with my head torch I saw that the keel was all the way to leeward, on the wrong side! No wonder! Running through the process again- the switch was on the right side and I knew from before the jibe that I had fully opened the valves, except… oh my god! The valves were fully closed. I had just jibed the boat with the keel on the wrong side. Instead of opening the valves completely, I had closed the valves completely, locking the keel in place to leeward. For a moment I was puzzled. I remembered turning the valves clockwise- but clockwise from the position of the cockpit reaching round, which of course was actually anticlockwise! In my tiredness, I had approached the system back to front. The liberated keel began to clunk under gravity dump and the boat finally began to right herself. I kicked in the electric pump until she was fully canted to windward and switched off the pump. I breathed; close call.

The wind had not picked up nor changed direction, so I unfurled the jib as if nothing had happened and sheeted in the main. Acceleration was fast and minutes later, the boat was cracking her custom 7-9kts, as I sat in the cockpit taking it all in. There were fishing trawlers all around me, illuminating the Celtic Sea, but none in close vicinity. My laptop had gone flying into the bilge along with the Sat phone, so I climbed down below to begin rounding up the debris. Standing at the bottom of the companion way, I realised for the first time that I was not only wet, but cold. I stripped. Thank goodness I had clipped on.

The warmth from the engine ticking over was most welcome, but even with my sea blanket wrapped around me, curled up on the cushion above the engine housing I was shivering. I was in shock. It is a bizarre scenario when your mind is clear and able to diagnose with rational detachment, what is wrong with your body. I had gone into shock, but at least I knew it.



Ex- Spirit of Canada and Ex- White Spirit, the boat currently had no name. In the middle period between her life as Spirit of Canada and her life as White Spirit, the print company Pindar had ownership. It was in fact me who bought the boat from Derek Hatfield on behalf of Pindar in a lawyer’s office in Halifax, Nova Scotia in August of 2004. Two weeks ago, I seized the chance to buy her again; this time on behalf of my own company. In order to finance my Degree Show event [see www.1woman1boat.com] which took place next to London’s Tate Britain Gallery earlier this year, I came up with the concept ‘Legs to Palma.’ I invited thrill-seeking sailing junkies to join me on the trimaran for a fee, on a 10-stop charter operation from London to Palma, Mallorca. ‘Lia’s Legs Limited,’ takes the ‘Legs to Palma’ concept a stage further. I have in effect, started a sailing syndicate. I’m selling timeshares. The opportunity is unique- to join me onboard for a Caribbean regatta; Antigua, the St. Martin Heineken, BVI Spring’s or St. Thomas Rolex. In between times, there’s no escape- she’ll be a charter donkey, but a stylishly fast one, for a select choice of top-class international hotels.

‘Dangerous When Wet,’ reads the text on one of those hazard diamonds, with the rating at the bottom and the warning symbol of the flame. ‘Dangerous When Wet,’ is a sticker that for some reason, they did a run of in baby blue. ‘Dangerous When Wet,’ was given to me by the dock workers in the shipping terminal in Halifax, while Derek and I were preparing the boat to travel as freight on the Ro-Ro to Liverpool. Hannah White, whose sponsor at the time, purchased the boat from Pindar, never removed the sticker which I had that day in Halifax plastered to the right of the instruments on the back of the coach roof. Unfortunately it was a wet and miserable day after we moved the boat to its new home in Hamble two weeks ago. When the riggers arrived the first thing one of them did was slip on the non-existent non-skid. For the rest of the week, we were warning each other in jest that the boat was ‘Dangerous When Wet.’ My jibe without canting the keel concreted my resolve. The boat would be named Dangerous When Wet!



We bought the boat on a Tuesday, did a mini refit by Friday with a small army of ten and I left on Saturday to begin my qualifier! Admittedly I was back by Saturday evening with a hydraulic leak, a corroded rudder reference unit and a short-circuiting switch panel, but after 3-4 hours of professional jury rigging and a restful sleep, was able to depart Sunday! So when I finally turned the corner on my qualifying passage to head homeward bound [a halleluiah moment in itself!] and with a downwind run to boot, I took a moment to consider. I had just crossed the continental shelf into the Celtic Sea, where wave height had suddenly picked up from 1-2 metres to 3-4. The spinnaker halyard was dangling into the forward hatch, from which I had planned to hoist the Code 5, a 3oz spinnaker. The sheets were run and the jib I had rolled away, when the boat surged forward through the surf. I had seen a top speed so far of 15.1kts on the same course, but this plane reeled on to a staggering 16.44 with now only the main up and a reef in at that! Hoisting a kite in 20-25kts of wind is no big deal, and on a beautiful 145-155 wind angle…? But something didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was just too soon- there was no time left to have another shot at the qualifier if something went wrong. I looked up at the sky for a decision. It seemed vaguely familiar. I had spent many a breathless night at the nav station en route to Palma, Mallorca reading ‘The Weather Handbook,’ by Alan Watts. It’s a thin flip book with pictures on the right of sky scenes and analytical text on the left. The sky I was currently looking at matched one of the pictures half way through the book. Above the picture ran the text ‘Sky showing signs of weather deterioration!’ About half an hour after I had decided to stuff the Code 5 back in the bag, the radar alarm rang out. An intense 3-4 mile wide squall had tracked me down.

The biggest difference I noticed, between ‘mono’ and multihull sailing, [apart from the obvious!] is a greater sensation of speed. Fifteen knots boat speed on a tri is a rip through a waterfall of spray. Fifteen knots on an Open 40 is like riding at the back of an Indian bus whose driver has thrown the fate of his passengers into the hands of Allah! When the main loads up, the sudden lurch of power is initially terrifying. For the first couple of days, I didn’t even contemplate lying in the bunk. I thought, ‘there’s no way, I can sleep through this!’ Dangerous When Wet is an absolute weapon of a boat. In 29.5kts true wind on a tight reach, I held a fully reefed main and half the Solent jib and she was still cracking 13kts! I’m having a fourth reef added!

How the Open 40’s [Class 3] will fare against the new allegedly toned-down Class 40s with their water ballast tanks rather than a canting keel, will be riveting to see. The qualifier was a necessary physical test. Brit-boys Ian Munslow, Phil Sharp and I, all experienced some hefty breeze, but the qualifier is also trying in other ways. Mashing off to waypoint X in order to rack up the obligatory 1000 miles is a real mental tease- it really makes you ask the question. ‘Do you really want to do this?’ Early weather analysis warns of a mean Biscay year.

More pictures on the following page